


You'll be the Prince and I’ll be the Princess

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The key is to focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll be the Prince and I’ll be the Princess

It's Erik's idea. Erik who brings it up over breakfast one morning, when everyone else has left the table and it's just Charles and him. It starts as an innocuous question but edged with intent, "Do you really not read Raven's mind?"

Charles is startled enough to not have a ready answer at hand. _No I don't, she asked me specifically not to, so I don't._

"Well?"

"It's -" It's more complicated than that, is what he wants to say.

"Huh," Erik replies.

"I suppose I could try. We could. Perhaps in the lab -" He pauses as a flurry of images floods his mind, each one more explicit than the next. "That would, or we could try that, yes. I suppose it would be useful to see how much I can turn it off, as a means of control." The images fade, shift into a burst of satisfied pleasure with a hint of anticipation.

"Tonight then." Erik folds his newspaper closed, puts it down with a decisive snap.

*

Charles is not very good at reading visual clues. He's never had to, not even with Raven; his promise to her only extended to not deeply probing her mind. He'd read surface emotions like everyone else read facial cues, like everyone else went by looks or words or even the shift in an expression: the way, for example, Erik's eyes darken when Charles palms his cock through his pants.

Sex, in the beginning, was always fraught with anxiety: he would try to stay out of their minds, but a stray thought here and there would always come through. Very often, the thoughts weren't the most pleasant. A distracted _I wonder if I switched off the flat iron_ or _Is it too late to back off now?_ and more often than not he'd end up sitting on the couch with them, talking about their feelings all night. After a while, he just figured if he knew what they wanted soon enough, eventually neither of them would have to spend so much time _thinking._ Cut off like this - he raises his head, splutters out, "I can't do this. How do I know what you like, what you want? I just -"

Erik raises himself up on his elbows, says, with all seriousness, "Charles. You're what I want."

"Well, that's just." He crawls up Erik's body, cradles his head in his hands. "You're very good at this, aren't you."

"I do all right."

"Do you?"

"Most of the people I've slept with weren't telepaths. _All_ ," he corrects himself.

"Wouldn't that make this rather old hat for you, then?"

"You're not getting out of this so easily."

Charles feels his smile fade away as he contemplates Erik, the sharp angles of his jaw, the soft lines around his eyes. He's never left physical marks on Erik's body before, not the way Erik has left on his: darkened hickeys below his collarbone and fading bruises on the inside of his thighs. He's aware he's left imprints on Erik's mind though, inevitably. X marks the spot. Remember me wanting you this way. Remember me this way. Remember me.

"You just can't help yourself, can you," Erik mutters sometimes, fondly when he's feeling indulgent, more cutting when he's not.

"You can trust me," Charles says.

"If I didn't I wouldn't be here," Erik responds, but his mind is shadowed even as he looks at Charles straight on.

Charles doesn't reply, goes back to trailing his fingers across Erik's scars, and it's strange not to be reminded anew where each scar came from as he touches it. It's both more and less intimate than before, because he's left with nothing but Erik's physical reactions, from the sharp intake of breath to the way his gaze gets get hooded, to the moment when he grabs Charles' hand and goes, "Enough," but kisses the inside of his wrist to alleviate the sting. He can't seem to focus, like this. Every part of him wants to reach out, wants to connect, and soothe. The gap between them feels unnatural, impossible to maintain.

"Charles," Erik's voice isn't loud, but Charles clings to it, swims out of himself for a moment. He slides Charles' hand down, until Charles gets the hint. "Do you know what I enjoy most when you jerk me off," he says. "I enjoy the way you bite your lip, just like that."

He keeps talking as he guides Charles' hand, his body, tells him all the things he wants to do to Charles, everything Charles does to him, and Charles says, "Jesus, Erik, where'd you get that filthy mouth of yours," because Erik's sexual encounters in the past had been perfunctory at worst, fleeting at best. Never a relationship that lasted more than a month, except when it was a means to an end.

"I think," Erik says, "you should concentrate more on your pretty mouth on my cock."

"Was I projecting?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

He's just getting used to going by the noises Erik makes to figure out what he likes - and it's like losing a sense, every other sense comes into sharp focus, like: Erik's got a sensitive spot on the inside of his thigh, right next to a crescent shaped scar, that makes him buck when Charles kisses it - and Charles realizes he's not just hearing Erik's gasps, there's also the sound of metal groaning. He stops, says, "Erik," and Erik opens his eyes.

"Damn," and the metal stops creaking.

"What were you saying about focus?"

"Shut up." He pokes at Charles' shoulder with one raised knee. "You were in the middle of doing something I believe."

"I was, wasn't I." He runs his tongue, fast, up the base of Erik's cock and Erik gasps, arches under him. "Interesting."

Erik swears softly under his breath and rubs a hand over his face. He stops though, when Charles swallows him down, fast and without warning. Then he just groans, and fists his fingers into Charles' hair, and this at least is familiar, easy enough to fall into a rhythm until Erik goes, "Charles, stop. I can't -" and drags him bodily upwards until they're face to face. Erik's face is red, flushed and disoriented, sweat dampening his hair to his brow. "Hello."

"Hello yourself." He kisses Erik then, copper and heat. Kisses his mouth, his cheeks, bites his way across the line of his jaw. Somehow he ends up in his lap, knees against Erik's sides, so focused on the feel of Erik's skin under his lips that he forgets, entirely, that he might want to be doing something else.

"Any time now, Charles," Erik says, and this can't be easy for him either. He bows his back, tucks his face into the crook of Charles' neck, muscles straining. "This is harder than I thought it would be," he mutters, and any other night he wouldn't even have to speak the words out loud.

"Your idea."

"Fuck my idea."

"No." Charles has always been too stubborn for his own good - even though he desperately wants to. He still feels blind, as if he's stumbling in utter darkness. He's never really learnt how to understand words, or expressions. Most of what people say is entirely different from what they think, and the thoughts are louder, more immediate, than anything else. "We finish what we start." He moves, fractionally, and Erik hisses, tightens his arms around Charles. "It's just that I can't - I don't understand how to react to you like this," Charles says, fumbling for a way to make Erik understand without projecting it into his head. Here: this is what it's like for me.

"You can't deal with me if you can't read my mind?" Erik looks contemplative for a brief second, but it passes. He grabs Charles' wrists instead, holds them behind his back. "Tell me, what do you imagine I want right now. Surely it can't be that hard."

"I don't know," Charles says honestly. "I have no idea."

"Okay." He releases one of Charles' wrists, guides the other one to his lips so he can slide a wet tongue across his palm. "Wrap your -" but Charles has already gotten the idea.

"Don't take your eyes off my face," Erik says.

"What?"

"Focus," even as his own eyes start to close when Charles starts moving his wrist, trying to find a rhythm that works for both of them. He tries to concentrate on watching Erik without feeling the need to reach out and let him know just how good this feels, how hot Erik looks when his brow is furrowed like that, when he gasps as Charles moves faster, harder, his own fingers seemingly belonging to someone else, someone who wants, needs - "Fuck, Erik, you're amazing. _God_ ," his free hand on Erik's chest as Erik shudders, once, and comes, hot over Charles' belly. He opens his eyes then, and the look in them is enough to make Charles follow suit, control bleeding out of him as his spine snaps straight and the pleasure overwhelms.

Erik collapses back down onto the bed, pulling Charles along with him as they catch their breaths. When Charles finally has enough sense back to take note of his surroundings, he narrows his eyes at the metal lamp next to the bed. "Erik," he says drowsily. "I'm entirely sure that lamp was not in that shape previously."

"Charles," Erik replies, "I'm entirely sure the entire house just heard you scream my name."

"Oh." Charles yawns heavily. "I think I can fix that," he adds after a beat, and ignores the deep rumble of Erik's laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> For the **vanilla kink** square.


End file.
